


One More Time

by greygerbil



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 09:01:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15139703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/pseuds/greygerbil
Summary: Mila plans to confess to Sara now that she has moved to St. Petersburg, but things keep getting in her way - at first Sara's brother and then Mila's own flagging courage.





	One More Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elstaplador](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elstaplador/gifts).



> Dear recipient, I hope you like this fic and my "illustrations" because I really liked your suggestions and had a lot of fun with them!

“What are you all dressed up for?”

Sara turned in front of the changing room mirror and fluffed the short tulle skirt of her elaborate costume a little more before tucking an errant strand of raven hair into her tight bun.

“I have an ice show booked for later this month and I thought I should run the skate in costume a few times,” she explained, tugging at a string of pearls wrapped around her wrist with elastic band.

“Ah, I get it.” As Mila pulled her gloves on, she made sure not to look Sara’s way any more than necessary, despite the fact that the glittering dress fit her too well to ignore completely. She’d have time to admire her on the ice, when it wasn’t vaguely creepy. “Did you get all set up at your place yet?”

“We’re still waiting for a couple of boxes of our books and other small stuff like that, but otherwise, we’ve pretty much moved in!”

“You sound excited.”

Sara laughed.

“Mickey and me didn’t want to stay separated for a whole year and we couldn’t agree on a coach to switch to before, so we’ve never done anything like this. Summer camps and stuff, sure, but not moving way. It’s great to be in a new city!” She rubbed her naked arms. “Except for the cold. When we left Naples, it was spring.” She sighed. “But I’ll get used to that.”

“Hey, the trees have a few leaves already. This is a nice April for St. Petersburg, I’ll have you know,” Mila answered.

Sara pushed her skate guards onto the blades and smiled.

“Well, I’m happy Yakov agreed to take us in on such short notice.” Mila held the door open for her as they walked out of the changing room. Sara gave her a sly smile over the shoulder. “Although – I guess maybe it’s just because he finally wants someone in his stable who can take gold from Yun at Worlds next season, and finally topple Maya.”

“Oh? I guess I just forgot you won against them at Worlds this season, huh?” Mila asked, lips pulling into a smile. “I could’ve sworn _I_ was on the podium with them.”

“You must have had a good view on them looking up with your bronze medal,” Sara teased. “I just had an off day at the free skate! I already placed higher than them in the Grand Prix twice,” she pointed out, flinging her dark hair back with a resolute movement of her head.

“You’ve also been losing to them for a lot longer than I have. Don’t count me out yet.”

“I think you mean I have had more time to gain experience,” Sara gave back. “When are you going to finally add that triple Lutz, triple loop combination to your repertoire? You’ve been talking about it for two years.”

“I’ll get to it,” Mila said, sticking out her tongue. Sara had an easy time talking; she was the ruling champion of the women’s division when it came to combination jumps, and that one was her signature, which was why Mila liked to tease she’d steal it someday (but, sadly, hadn’t actually managed yet, and not for a lack of trying). Sometimes, watching her skate, Mila would have sworn the woman weighed nothing at all.

Mila and Sara had traded the fourth and third place in the rankings around for three years now, but Yun Na-Hee, twenty-four years old, had been a carrot to chase for both. Though not wholly unbeaten, she had for the last years been considered the queen of the women’s single skater roster, collecting four World gold medals in six years, with the last women to snatch gold from her in any big competition now both retired. The distance between her and the rest was buffered further by Maya Belenkaya, a Moscow-based skater and constant thorn in Yakov’s side, who would have liked his students to rule supreme in both the men’s and women’s division at Nationals and in the big ISU competitions, but had for years been prevented from doing so by her.

When they arrived at the rink, Sara pulled off her skate guards, put down her bottle, and stepped on the ice, pushing herself into a long glide, idly turning with effortless grace. Mila found herself briefly frozen at rink side. Forget Yun and Maya, she thought, sometimes it was still difficult to believe she was on the same ice with _Sara_. She had no trouble with self-esteem, but when she had first seen Sara during her Junior debut on TV nine years ago, still a little girl herself, the idea that she might one day consider herself serious competition for Sara, might even be above her in rankings, had seemed a distant dream. She had gone from an idol of the kind comfortably young enough that Mila could still see herself in her, to a crush when Sara had first shaken Mila’s hand on her senior debut and Sara let her have a sip of her glass of champagne at the Grand Prix Final banquet, to a friend that Mila really, really liked to push off the podium stairs, no harm intended. Always through all that time, though, she was happy for her presence. You could grow with any competitor, but being close with Sara, the friendly mocking and support they gave each other, had always spurned Mila on more than the goals she saw in Yun and Maya.

And now they were rink-mates – Mila wondered what would come of it.

*

“I still can’t decide.”

Sara sighed, swiping her thumb over her phone as a long list of songs scrolled past too fast to read. Through her still sparsely furnished living room pulsed an Italian dance track Mila had never heard before via the speakers hooked up to her phone.

“Yakov will help you if you ask. He picks pretty good stuff most of the time. I bet he could even find something Italian if that’s what you’d like.”

“It doesn’t have to be Italian, I just want a dance song. It’s not something I’ve done before. I want to push myself this season, since I’m already doing something new training here.”

She balled her slender fingers into a fist, all determination. Mila nodded her head as she scanned briefly through Sara’s career in her mind. Where Mila herself scored with tempo and daring element sequences, which paid off most of the time when they didn’t have her tumbling all over the ice, Sara was a master jumper and had that effortless, mature poise that female skaters often acquired only after they crossed into the other half of the twenties, that certain grand-dame feeling. To see her take on something modern and upbeat instead of a classical piece would really be a surprise at this point. Victor would have loved it.

For Mila, however, her song choice was also a bit of a chance to set a plan in motion. She languidly stretched out her jeans-clad legs over the hardwood floor they were sitting on.

“If you need inspiration, why not actually go out dancing? That’s the best way to see what kind of dance song you’d like, right? Besides, I could show you the St. Petersburg night life!”

Sara cocked her head, dark hair cascading over her shoulder.

“That’s not a bad idea.” She smiled. “Where do people go in this city?”

“Well, I know this club near Nevsky Prospekt. The Atoners play there this Saturday. They’re local and pretty good and it’s an open dance floor after the concert. That could be fun, right?”

“Sounds great. I’ll ask Mickey.”

Mila let out a small noise of disappointment.

“Honestly, does he have to come? When we were out after the Grand Prix Final, he just stood around supporting the wall.”

“Shh, he’s in the kitchen, you know?” Sara laughed. “If he hears about it, he’ll insist to come along anyway,” she added with a shrug. “We can just leave him at the bar, it’ll be fine.”

Mila had to heartily disagree on that. To Sara, it might seem normal that her brother was attached to her hip like they’d been born fused, but she wanted to actually get her to herself somewhere else than the rink for once. How else was she ever going to tell her she was interested? She wasn’t going to do it in the girl’s locker room just because that was the only place where Michele couldn’t follow.

However, Sara was right that he probably wasn’t going to clear the battlefield on his own, even though he probably thought of Mila as marginally safe because she was a girl. After all, Mila planned on dragging his sister into what he no doubt considered a den of sin. But how could she get rid of him?

*

“Gosha?”

Mila sidled up to him at the side of the rink, where Georgi had stopped to take a sip from his bottle. He glanced down at her unusually bright smile with an inquisitive gaze.

“I need to ask a favour,” she said.

Better to get straight to it. Georgi wasn’t stupid enough to miss when he was being buttered up. Besides, they had been friends for long enough that it wasn’t necessary. When Mila had joined the rink at thirteen, Georgi, already a long-term student of Yakov’s and therefore possibly feeling responsible for his younger protégés, had always been ready to help her out. Mila liked Victor, too, but before Yuuri he had always been in his own head, focused on the ice and with little inclination or time to spend on children who couldn’t get their Salchows and Biellmann spins in order. Georgi had not minded wasting that time on her and by now he was kind of like an older brother, albeit a supremely weird one who sometimes acted less mature than she did being ten years younger.

“What is it?” Georgi asked.

“Are you free next Saturday?”

“Of course,” Georgi muttered.

Mila stopped herself from chiding him for giving up after the couple of dates he’d half-heartedly set up after his break-up before sinking back into lingering melancholy, now less focused on Anya and more on the general sorry state of his love life. Unfortunately, this time, it was actually kind of helpful to her. She wowed to force him out there again, but for now she had her own potential relationship to worry about.

“Can you grab Michele and find something to keep him occupied? I want to go dancing with Sara and if I have to drag him around while he stomps his feet and starts a fight with every guy who looks at her sideways, it’s going to be annoying as hell.”

Georgi frowned.

“Michele will probably think I want to get at Sara,” Georgi pointed out, and Mila couldn’t even deny that. She doubted it’d be a fun time for Georgi, but she kind of needed him to take this bullet. Yuri certainly wouldn’t do it, and she wasn’t close enough to Victor to ask him to waste a valuable free day’s evening with his boyfriend.

“You’ve talked, though, right?”

“Yes, but I still doubt he wants to spend time alone with me. He’s very… abrasive.”

Mila leaned her head closer.

“Look,” she said, conspiratorially, “I’ve had a crush on Sara since I was fifteen. I just want to get some time alone with her.”

Just as she’d expected, Georgi’s gaze softened at that. She’d known him for long enough to be aware that arguments might or might not move him, but if you came in with feelings – tragic, joyful, it didn’t matter as long as they were true –, he’d always be on your side. Being in love was of course the killer argument to win him over.

“Really?” he asked, eyes wide.

“Yes, and she likes girls! She told me when we were out after the Grand Prix Finale last year. So?”

“Alright... I’ll think of something,” Georgi answered with a nod. “It’s important, after all.”

Mila wrapped her arms around Georgi’s waist from behind and lifted him clean off the ice. He yelped as she pulled him off the boards and then placed him back on his feet.

“I owe you one.”

“No pair-skating,” Georgi said, with as much dignity as he could muster.

“I’ve got to practice. Maybe Sara and me could have a cute shared exhibition skate, too,” Mila joked, pointing at Victor and Yuuri at the other end of the rink.

*

“Sara, Michele, over here.”

Mila waved at the two of them standing at the counter of the Sport Champions Club’s cafeteria. Michele was holding the tray with their salads. He cast a doubtful glance at Georgi sitting opposite Mila, but Sara had already caught Mila’s eye and started towards them, seating herself next to her. After hesitating briefly, Michele followed, sitting by Georgi’s side opposite of his sister.

“How did your lesson with the jump coach go?” Mila asked.

Sara huffed.

“She’s intense.”

“That’s a word for it,” Mila answered with a chuckle. Olga had driven her to the edge of collapse more than once – never over, or Yakov wouldn’t employ her, but she didn’t go easy on you.

“I was wondering why I had no off-ice conditioning scheduled for the afternoon, but I get it now,” Sara said, spearing a tomato. “Let’s see how you do with her later, Mickey. Maybe you’ll be sleeping through that concert tomorrow, after all.”

“I can manage, I’m sure,” Michele said tightly.

Opposite Mila, Georgi lowered his spoon back into his borscht and gave Michele a sideways glance. They had agreed to plan their diversion as close to the concert as possible so Michele didn’t have time to change his mind, and with just a day left, it was the perfect time.

“It’s too bad you already have plans on Saturday. They are playing _Richard Coeur-de-Lion_ at the Mariinsky Theatre and I have a ticket left,” Georgi said, with his best impression of absent-mindedness.

Surprised, Michele looked up from his salad.

“That opera doesn’t get a lot of showings these days.”

“Too bad, isn’t it? I remember we talked about Grétry’s work before. I figured you might be interested.”

“The squire’s loyalty to the king in this play is so inspiring,” Michele declared, but, just as he had turned full-body to Georgi, he stopped himself. “But I can’t go.”

“Why not?” Sara asked. “I know you’d rather go to the opera than to the club, anyway.”

“But what about you? You’d be alone in some dark place in a St. Petersburg backstreet...”

The very thought seemed to scandalise him.

“I doubt Mila is dragging me to a strip club.”

“Not before three a.m.,” Mila joked, ignoring the indignant look Michele threw her way. “I’ll still be there, though! I wager I could take you in a boxing match, Michele, so Sara is safe with me.”

“Just go to the opera with Georgi, Mickey. It’d be silly for you not to. They probably won’t show it that often,” Sara said, with an edge of authority in her tone. “I’ll be fine without you.”

The rebuke stopped a forkful of salad on the way to Michele’s mouth, the hurt clear in his eyes. However, it seemed to be enough to put him on the back foot.

“Fine,” he said, clipped.

Mila resisted the urge to punch the air with her fist and hid a wide grin behind her glass of water.

*

“What do you think?!”

Mila chugged down half of her beer in one go, more for the feeling of cool liquid running down her throat than the taste, which was only middling, anyway. She had to shout over the din of music and people even though Sara was standing right next to her. Sara was wearing a short wine-red dress accentuated by a matching rose hair clip, looking absolutely stunning in a way that had distracted Mila from the band on stage all evening long. She herself had agonised over her wardrobe until she decided on black dress pants and a tight button-up shirt with a bow, playfully boyish in a way that she hoped Sara would find cute, yet not hiding any of her assets. You had to work with what you got, after all.

“They’re great!” Sara shouted back, balancing her cocktail, thumb flipping the umbrella. “Do you want to step out for a moment?! It’s insanely hot in here!”

“Good plan!”

Mila waved at Sara to follow and shouldered her way through the crowd. On the stage, the instruments stood abandoned and the DJ had only just started filling the intermission with a thumping EDM beat, so she figured the band wouldn’t be around for a while yet. They escaped the noise and oppressive, humid warmth into a hallway. A metal door covered top to bottom in yellowed layers of event posters led out into the inner courtyard. Mila opened it, but stood still in the doorway, already shivering at the wind that rushed in.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Sara said, breathing in and out, hair fluttering in the gust.

“We better not stand here for too long or we’ll catch a cold,” Mila said. “Well, you will, anyway, since you’re a hot-house plant.”

Sara chuckled.

“I’ve yet to wilt,” she said, as Mila closed the door again.

“True.” Mila leaned against the cool wall.

“How do you like it so far?” Sara asked.

“I’ve been a fan for years. I’m just happy I’m finally old enough to get into the clubs they play – and with nice company, too,” she joked.

A favourite band on stage, a pretty girl dancing close enough that they were rubbing shoulders all evening, and the beer didn’t taste like dishwater – all in all, Mila had had worse Saturdays.

Sara brushed hair out of her face. She’d been dancing wild enough that her hairdo had collapsed into damp strands hanging loose, but she always looked amazing, anyway.

“I’m happy we came together,” Sara said, smiling.

Mila felt a flutter in her stomach.

“I’m not in the way of you trying to get a date here, though, am I?” she fished. “Since you got a rare evening off from your brother.”

Sara shook her head.

“I want to start dating, but right now I’m pretty happy just with what we’re doing. And Michele... well, he makes a lot of noise, but when I want him out of the way, I can tell him to leave. I just usually don’t want to deal with the whining.” She looked at the ceiling as she sipped from her martini. “And it’s not just his fault, you know? We were always inseparable and I used to be fine with that, but... I think we were holding each other back in every way. That’s what I told him back at the Rostelecom Cup.”

Mila felt like a light bulb went on in her head as she remembered the oddly serene way in which Michele had performed his free skate, and Sara bursting into tears in the middle of the performance.

“That’s pretty difficult, I imagine, after sticking together for so long.”

Sara nodded her head.

“That’s why I hesitated. I mean, I love him, he’s my brother. I don’t want to constantly tell him off. But that’ll only work if he starts looking to other people than me, too.”

“I guess you’re not just the stronger twin when it comes to competition ratings.”

Sara laughed.

“I’m giving my best,” she said, toasting Mila. Her gaze turned thoughtful, then. “I haven’t really talked about this with anyone. I mean, usually I’d speak to Mickey if I have a problem and that’s not an option here.”

It surprised Mila to hear as much, but only in the first moment. Sara was outgoing and had no problem approaching people – she was already acquainted with most of the St. Petersburg rink –, but when it came to the truly personal stuff, she tended to play her cards close to her chest and made her decisions on her own. Mila felt honoured she had gotten an explanation for that outburst at the Rostelecom Cup at all, to be honest.

“You can always come to me. I like to think I’m a pretty good listener. I can’t promise I’ll always counsel caution, though. I would totally get you a date tonight if you let me.”

That wasn’t even a lie. Mila just wasn’t looking to find Sara someone new, she’d brought her potential date to the club alongside her.

“Do you know I’ve never actually been on a date?“ Sara asked, the corner of her mouth quirked upwards.

“Seriously? How did you manage that? Someone must have been brave enough to sneak past Michele.”

Sara chuckled.

“They might have been. Skating was always my priority, though. Still… I don’t want to be thirty and never have done anything else in my life. I’m not always going to be a pro skater.”

Mila nodded. It was strange to think about, considering four years wasn’t exactly a huge age difference, but where she was closer to the start of her career, Sara was already climbing the peak, and might be thinking about retirement in as many years as separated them. Some skated longer, but there were myriads of ways to wear your body out or injure it permanently even before you were hopelessly overtaken by younger skaters. Figure skating career years felt like cat years, seven for each one that passed in the real world, but there was a lot of life for them still to live once they were out of the competition for good.

“So you’re on the prowl tonight?” Mila joked.

Sara grinned.

“No, not tonight.” She pushed her arm under Mila’s and gently urged her back down the hallway towards the main room. “I’m having too much fun with you.”

Mila stopped herself from jumping giddily on the spot.

They returned just as the band picked up their instruments again. Since it seemed a futile endeavour to shove back to the front, Mila followed Sara, who had honed in on a small free spot at the back of the crowd. It wouldn’t be as good a view as they had had before, but at least they had some leg room. Mila bobbed along to the music as they moved into place while Sara took Mila’s bottle and placed it next to her own empty glass on a sticky-looking table, returning to Mila’s side with a few steps swaying to the beat the drummer set. Mila slung her arm over Sara’s shoulders and matched her dance step and Sara reached around her middle and pulled Mila closer against her side.

*

They danced until four in the morning, when their hair and clothes were in disarray and they were hoarse from cheering and trying to talk over the crowd. Since Mila lived closer, she had Sara send a text to her brother and then took her home.

“My bed is big enough for two,” she offered, tipsy enough to struggle with the front door keys. “Uh... but I can sleep on the couch if you’d rather like that.”

“That’s not good for your back,” Sara admonished. “Let’s just sleep in the bed together.”

They managed to take off their shoes at the entrance, Mila’s black high heels landing next to Sara’s sleek ankle boots, and push through the living room into the bedroom, where Mila collapsed backwards onto the mattress, feet dangling over the edge of the bed. It was silent and lukewarm in the room, the surface she laid on impossibly soft, and suddenly she could barely keep her eyes open.

Her body shifted on the mattress when it sank under Sara’s weight. She was lying right next to her. Mila could smell her sweet, floral perfume mixing with the cigarette smoke that had filled the club which still clung to her clothes and hair. Their thighs were brushing against each other, shoulders touching.

“We should shower and put on some sleeping clothes,” Sara muttered next to her ear.

Mila made an appreciative noise that communicated she was definitely theoretically in favour of that plan, but she was already asleep seconds later.

*

The next morning, she woke up with Sara’s head on her shoulder. Still blinking herself awake, she looked down at her sleeping face, long dark lashes touching her cheeks, some of her lipstick smeared on the pale skin of Mila’s biceps. There was a hint of a smile, unfocused and relaxed. A strand of hair hung across her face and pooled against her throat

Sara opened her eyes suddenly, alert but not startled, as if she’d been awake for a while. It made Mila jump a little.

They looked at each other in silence for a moment before Mila managed a “good morning”. Sara smiled at her and Mila was suddenly very aware she just had to turn her head a little to make this situation something entirely different, just like she’d wanted, had hoped for. However, her heart was in her throat and she choked like a thirteen year old at her first qualifier – and that had never happened to her on the ice, much less in a bed.

Sara pushed herself up to sit, stretching like a cat as she yawned.

This was way more difficult when it counted, Mila thought.

*

Mila had just finished a spin when Sara flew past her on the ice, tapping her on the shoulder in the process.

“Hey! Thought you were off for the evening?” Mila said.

“I just talked to Yakov,” Sara said excitedly. “I chose my free skate.”

“Oh, cool. What is it going to be?”

“One More Time by Daft Punk.”

She waved the CD in her hand.

“What about the short program?”

“I’m letting him pick. I want to see what he comes up with for me.”

Mila snatched the CD from her hand.

“Let’s hear it!”

“It’s a bit more electronic than I wanted to go at the start. I guess our night out inspired me,” Sara said, as Mila fiddled with the old rink-side CD player.

“I’m glad I could help.”

The song started with a slow, building beat. Mila smiled as she looked over her shoulder at Sara thoughtfully dragging the blade of her skate along the ice and then kick off. She was obviously just going free-style, but considering that after a few looping footwork elements she hopped easily into a triple Salchow, double toe loop just as the refrain picked up, Mila suddenly felt the distance between them in a way she’d forgotten as they were out dancing together. There, they’d only be two girls out on town, and Mila was even clearly more experienced than Sara in some regards. Now, as she watched Sara skate bits of a choreography that could have been assembled into a Top 10 performance with only a few connecting pieces and a little polish, the chasm their current ranking belied was suddenly back. There was an effortless, trained ease to the way she skated that had not come within Mila’s grasp yet. Much like her explosive performances, she could be inconsistent, with heights that catapulted her past Sara in score and audience attention, and lows that left her clinging to the edge of the bronze step, if not slipping off it, when she had a bad season.

Mila pushed off the side of the rink. On the other hand, it wasn’t like she was a dime-a-dozen skater, was it? She had always kept the spotlight on her. Right now, she was ranked _above_ Sara. If Sara could turn her head with a performance, then she should be able to do the same!

As the CD skipped to repeat and Sara began alternating between easy step sequences to the beat, probably trying to find a pretty opening, Mila retreated back to her side of the rink and began to match her steps to the music as well. She saw Sara lift her gaze from her toes and smile.

“Are you going to help me come up with a choreography?”

“Maybe. How about that element you always include to outscore me?”

Mila smiled broadly at her as she took a sharp curve and run-up and then jumped the triple Lutz. That one she landed, but even in the moment that she lifted from the ice for the triple loop, she realised she didn’t have the right angle for a landing, and before she’d finished that thought, she was already sprawled on the ice.

As she shook her head and sat up with a groan, the whisper of skates on ice rushed past her ear. Sara offered her both hands and looked her up and down after she had deposited Mila safely back onto her skates, still holding her wrists. Apparently satisfied that Mila had not broken any bones, she finally chuckled.

“I don’t do it quite like that,” she teased.

“Pretty sure you did it somewhat like that at the Europeans…”

Sara raised a brow, but had to laugh in earnest. “It was still more graceful than that.”

“Give me four years! I can still catch up.”

“Okay, but not tonight. I think it’s getting too late if you’re pulling stunts like that, and I’m tired.”

Sara tugged Mila along by her hand, which Mila thought was ample reward for the fall she had taken. She watched Sara clip on her blade guards and collect her CD and phone from the rink side. Tomorrow, they’d be training with the others again and Mila had a few sponsor photoshoots planned for the next week which would eat up her free time during the day, and if she decided to take Sara out again then she’d potentially have to deal with Michele. She had already missed what had felt like the perfect opportunity after their night out, would she keep missing the decent ones, too? There really wasn’t a reason to keep waiting around other than the fact that she was nervous, which was never a good excuse.

“Huh.” Sara swiped her thumb across the screen of her phone.

“What is it?”

“Mickey posted a photo with Georgi at the opera.” She turned the phone around so Mila could take a look at the two of them standing on the steps of the Mariinsky Theatre, looking dapper in dark suits. Georgi was smiling, Michele had managed a look that was at least more neutral than grim. “He doesn’t ever post pictures of friends. Apparently St. Petersburg is good for him.”

“I asked Georgi to take him out that Saturday, you know?” Mila said, seeing her opening and taking the leap.

“You did?” Sara smiled. “Why, are you playing matchmaker?”

After just a moment’s hesitation, Mila straightened and smiled.

“Not for them.”

She could read the moment when Sara understood on her face as she looked up from the photo and stared at Mila with her pretty sunset-sky eyes. Mila made sure to keep her most adventurous smile on her face.

“Oh,” Sara made eventually, lifting a hand to her mouth.

“I figured I should probably… put that out there eventually, you know?” Mila said. “Since I’ve been trying to do it for a while.”

“I had no idea!” Sara exclaimed.

“Well…” Mila bravely held on to her smile. “Now you do!”

Sara smiled slightly and dropped her hand.

“I… don’t know what to say. Give me some time to think about it, yes?”

“Sure,” Mila said with a nod.

She turned away to walk the length of the rink side and down the hallway to the changing rooms. It wasn’t exactly the answer you dreamed of, but Mila had confessed to a couple of people in her life, and baffled surprise was certainly better than an outright ‘no’, or it’s less harsh but more fraught cousin, ‘that’s nice’. ‘Give me time’ was the kind of thing you could spin into a night out at the bar if you were lucky, and maybe more from there.

She heard the clack of Sara’s skates on the ground behind her. Just as she reached for the changing room door, a hand on her shoulder spun her around and Mila was pulled into a kiss by the back of her head.

When Sara leaned back, Mila was still stunned silent.

“I thought you wanted time to think?” she managed, finally.

“I had time,” Sara argued. “Enough time that I knew I didn’t want you to walk away.”

Mila had to laugh.

“I thought Italians being temperamental was just a stereotype.”

“Well, apparently you like it.”

*

“We’re having a date on Wednesday.”

Georgi looked over at Mila, who was leaning against the rickety cafeteria table with a triumphant grin.

“That’s great!” he said, honestly enthusiastic. “To think that such a long crush finally comes to fruition...”

“It’s about time!” Mila agreed.

Thoughtfully, Georgi placed his fork down.

“Wouldn’t you be a little like Victor and Yuuri? Lovers competing on the ice.”

Mila frowned.

“No, I don’t think so. I want her gold medals, so I wouldn’t make a stipulation like Victor has. Besides, I’m not a crazy person who gets engaged after nine months.”

“The way Victor told it, it was really romantic,” Georgi defended their friends.

“Uh-huh,” Mila said, rolling her eyes.

“You’re so practical,” Georgi complained.

“Am not! I’m going on one of these tourist boat rides on the Neva with her for the date, at night, when all the lights are on at the banks.”

“That sounds pretty,” Georgi admitted with a gentle smile that only after a moment turned sardonic. “So do I have to entertain Michele again next Wednesday?”

Mila laughed. “He’s got gym training scheduled, lucky me.” Glancing at the clock, she nodded towards the door. “I’m up now, though. I’m going to give Yakov my choices for the free skate.”

“What are you doing?”

“Contemporary rock. I’ll have to really work to outshine Sara this season, her program looks like it’ll be amazing. The only way I’m letting her take my number three rank is if I move higher up, though.”

“You’re pretty harsh for her future girlfriend.”

Mila grinned.

“I doubt she’d want it any other way.”


End file.
